


Good

by haycorn



Series: Promise to be Kind [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bondage, M/M, Mild D/s, Praise Kink, steve is the best top in the whole world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-18 02:04:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2331164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haycorn/pseuds/haycorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>If he can be good, if he can take what he so shamefully wants and come out the other side, it would feel so amazing, he knows it, if he can just get there…</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Bruce Banner ties himself in knots until Steve does it for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good

Bruce kneels, ass back against his feet, hands behind his back. The position burns a bit in his thighs, but he halfway relishes the pain. It gives him something to focus on, something to feel that is not the anxiety in his stomach. He closes his eyes, bites his lip, presses his crossed wrists into the small of his back. _This I can do. In this I can be good. I can be so good in this one little thing._

The door opens, and he tries with everything he has to straighten his back and relax his face. If he shows his nerves, Steve will call it off. This tempts him a little—he would be coddled and comforted if he gave in now—but there is also a hollowness that goes with the thought. If he can be _good_ , if he can take what he so shamefully wants and come out the other side, it would feel so amazing, he knows it, if he can just get there

He can sense Steve’s proximity. “Still okay?” Steve asks.

“Yes.” It takes force to say it. So hard to ask when all he wants is to be forced to take. _Selfish, selfish._

And then there are fingers carding oh so gently through his hair. “You look so good like this. I bet you could keep your hands right there just from me asking you to.” Bruce can’t keep back a tiny whine. “Oh, no, no.” The hand slips under his chin, tilting his head up. “That was a compliment. I’m not taking anything away if you want it.” Slight increase in pressure. “But I want you to tell me.”

Bruce licks his lips. “I want it.”

“You want what?” So gentle, so expectant. “Can you say it specifically?”

It feels like pulling his own heart out of his body, but that voice. That kindness. “Please, will you tie my hands?”

“Open your eyes.” When Bruce does, Steve is looking at him, all serious eyes and soft smile. “I will. Anything you ask for, I’ll do it to you.”

It’s scary and reassuring all at once, and Bruce drops his gaze. “I know. Thank you.”

Steve lets go of his face, but keeps a light touch until he is settled behind Bruce. He rubs Bruce’s shoulders and asks, “Do you want to stay on your knees, or would you rather sit down?” Bruce shrugs, and Steve’s hands still. “Would you rather keep kneeling,” he repeats, all patience, “or do you want to change positions? I don’t have a preference. I’m not going to get mad at you either way. I just want you to choose.”

The symbolism and ritual of kneeling is heady, but the ache in his thighs is getting distracting. Bruce shifts, moving his legs in front of him. Steve steadies him through the motion, and when he is settled, Steve’s hands start massaging again. “Good,” Steve says, drawing the vowel out, and it is just this side of too much, so when Steve digs into a sore spot and says “I’m so proud of you,” Bruce curls in on himself, overwhelmed and raw. Steve presses against him, hands sliding to rub gentle circles on his chest. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Bruce comes back to himself slowly. “I’m okay,” he says, trying to breathe normally. “I’m sorry.   I just…”

“No sorries. Take your time.” Bruce hears Steve stand, walk away a bit. “I do need you to make another decision, though.” He comes back, crouching between Bruce’s spread thighs. There is rope in his hands. “I’m sure that if you like this, we will have time to try all the variations, and I am in no way expressing a preference because my goal is watching how blissful you get when you come.” Bruce blushes hard at the wickedness in his tone, and he can _hear_ the smile when Steve says, “Yeah, I know.”

And now his voice is fond, so fond that Bruce is asking “May I have a kiss?” before he really even knows what he’s doing.

“Yes, of course,” but the lips press to his forehead, which is not what Bruce wanted and absolutely perfect at the same time. “Now, as I was saying.” Steve pulls the rope taut between his fists. “If I tie your hands in front of you, I can tie you to something, if you like that. But,” he smiles, “you look so damn gorgeous with your hands behind you like that. Your choice. I’m happy either way.”

The thought of being tied to the bedpost is a very nice one, but he also imagines the long, vulnerable expanse of chest and sides he would present. He files the idea away for later, when he is better and stronger. “Behind me. Please.”

“Absolutely.” Steve kisses his forehead again before standing, and before he can register the absence, Steve’s strong hands are on his wrists. He runs the rope around and between, and the knots are tight but not uncomfortable. “Alright?”

Bruce tries to wiggle his hands experimentally. They go nowhere. “Perfect. Thank you.”

“Such excellent manners. C’mon, let’s get you up.” Steve has to help him stand. He is awkward and unbalanced, and it is embarrassing at the same time that it feels so good to let Steve take his weight and maneuver him so that he is sitting on the end of the bed. Steve eases between Bruce’s legs and presses a kiss to one bare shoulder. “How much can I tease you?”

He wants to be strong, to say _as much as you want_ , but this is the thing he has to be honest about, because the moment he starts pushing that particular limit, starts trying to go longer before arousal becomes frustration, he will have opened the door for the Other Guy, and there would be no return from that. “A little? I don’t…I feel…I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.” Steve’s voice is firm, but he kisses Bruce so sweetly, and Bruce goes to wrap his arms around him before he remembers, and oh. _Oh._ The feeling of restraint burns through him, and he throws himself into the kiss knowing he has no control over it, that if Steve breaks away he’ll fall on his face, and it feels paradoxically like freedom.

They have to break for air eventually, and Steve’s fingers rest against the button of his pants. He raises his eyebrows, asking the question. “Yes,” Bruce breathes, “yes, please. I’m okay with…everything. I just don’t have the stamina.” _Patience_ , his brain supplies for him, _it’s the patience you don’t have, unable to wait for him to touch you how you want_ , but then Steve is opening his pants, pulling them down along with his boxers, and it utterly derails his self-loathing. Bruce can’t even lift his own hips. He is powerless, at Steve’s mercy, and for a moment he feels a rush of fear. Steve could do anything, things he’s not ready for, and it’s terrifying.

But he knows better. He know Steve respects his limits, and then Steve’s tongue is in his navel, making him squirm and moan. He loses balance and falls backwards, and Steve comes with him, teeth scraping gently on a fold of flesh. “I want to feel you,” Bruce tells him, and Steve presses a kiss to his hip before rising to remove his own clothing. He is an Adonis, and Bruce is achingly hard looking at him.

Steve kneels between his legs. “Let’s get you taken care of.” He starts gentle, just slowly stroking Bruce’s dick, then increases his speed ever so slightly.

Bruce writhes under him, feeling the pressure build and build. He wants to bury himself in the feeling, let it surround him, but he can’t quite get there. There’s an ache, still, that holds him back. “Tell me,” he rasps. “Tell me I’m…” He can’t get it out. He feels silly and stupid and on the edge of all that pleasure but afraid to fall. “Please, say…” It’s useless. He has no right to request something so stupid, even if he could bear to tell Steve what he needs.

Except that Steve reads his mind or sees him mouth the words or something, because he jacks Bruce harder and says, “You’re doing so well. You’re so brave to ask for what you want.” He leans closer, strokes faster. “You’re a good boy, Bruce. You’re my good boy. You are _so good._ ”

And that’s what it takes, that’s what topples him, and he is gasping and coming and keening just a little, shaking apart into a million overwhelmed pieces. When he comes back down, Steve is smiling at him, petting his flank. “You keep that up, you’re going to give me a big head,” he jokes.

Bruce is still in that magical headspace without fear, without the constant anger. “Trying to give you a big something else,” he says, and pushes himself up slightly. “On me?” he suggests.

It’s all the permission Steve needs, and he kneels over Bruce’s hips, pulling himself hard and fast. Bruce watches, smiling lazily, and when the first warm burst hits his chest, he tilts his head back and breaths out, bursting with the glee he always feels when Steve orgasms. 

All too soon, though, Steve is getting off of him, walking to the bathroom. “I can do it,” Bruce protests weakly.

Steve chuckles. “Yeah, you’re going to be a lot of help with your hands behind your back. Lay there and let me take care of you.” He can’t argue with that, and he submits to Steve’s warm washcloth and the gentle cleaning. Steve presses kisses to his eyelids before nudging him to sit up. “You ready for me to untie you?”

Part of Bruce wants to ask if he can stay like this a little longer, can stay under Steve’s control, but his shoulders are starting to ache and his chest feels full of contentment. “I’m ready. Thank you.”

Steve releases the knots and presses kisses to the inside of each wrist. “It was my pleasure.” Placing the rope to the side, he moves back and pulls Bruce against him. “It was….good, right?”

“Oh my God,” Bruce huffs, curling up to Steve’s broad chest. “It was amazing. It was...” His words fail him. “It was everything.”

Steve’s arms wrap around him. “Just checking.” His embrace is warm, and Bruce knows that nothing is really changed, nothing is fixed, he will still wake up tomorrow full of pinpricks and fear, but right now he is held and safe and loved, and he has been good, and that is the entirety of what matters.


End file.
